


Rewind That Back

by sabinelagrande



Series: The Goddamned Genderswap [7]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Age Regression, F/M, Loss of Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-14
Updated: 2011-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-26 01:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patient confidentiality standards were really not formulated to deal with a panicky Meredith McKay screaming, "I don't want to be a goddamned virgin!" at the top of her lungs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rewind That Back

They're always stumbling onto Ancient devices. Usually, they do nothing; it's a big day when they find something that even beeps or blinks. Still, Meredith is forever checking them out, because it could always be the day something happens.

The day something does happen, she and John are in one of the sub-basements in Atlantis, checking out a formerly water-logged room that's never been properly explored. John is mostly practicing his leaning and leering skills, while Meredith crawls around on the floor and occasionally gives him bits of things to hold.

After she surveys it carefully, she stands up, brushing herself off. "Well, this place is useless," she says, wiping her hands on her uniform pants. "Another afternoon in which we could've come one step closer to understanding the universe, if I hadn't been fucking around in here." John's sure there's more of her rant, but she takes one step forward and the floor depresses underneath her, light shooting up the walls.

"What the hell is this, Indiana Jones?" Meredith says flippantly, but she sounds scared. John isn't, not until the floor underneath him starts moving too, sending him sliding towards her.

"Run," John tells her, stumbling backwards, but Meredith is already on her way. She's crossing towards him when she almost gets taken out by some kind of disco ball that's just popped up out of the floor; it's then that John stops being able to move his feet. The disco ball comes alive, shooting out a beam of white light that hits John right in the chest, making him rock on his feet, almost falling over. The beam keeps moving, passing over Meredith's body, and someone else is suddenly standing there.

John knows, on some visceral level, that it's still Meredith, but he's not even sure how he knows that. The woman- the _girl_ who's standing in front of him now shares her features, but ramped up and taken down in the best places. She's thinner, making all her curves pop in a way they didn't five minutes ago; her clothes are sagging, her pants sliding down a little to reveal a flash of her hip. Her face is softer and smoother, her lips looking even bigger and more pouty than they were already. Her hair is all screwed up, though, suddenly falling out of what had been a tight bun. She reaches up and pulls the chopsticks out of it, tossing her head so that her hair falls loose and long and curly around her shoulders.

John cannot _believe_ what he's seeing.

He's so distracted that it takes him a minute to realize that he feels really funny. Weirdly, it's his hair that he notices first. It's brushing his ears and falling into his face, the way it hasn't since he realized that wearing it flat and parted was a really terrible look on him.

He looks at Mer, about to ask what the hell, but before he can say a word, she doubles over in laughter.

"What time is the frat mixer, Colonel?" she manages to gasp out. "Oh, I'm sorry, do they even have colonels in the ROTC?"

"Shut up," he mutters. "What the hell just happened?"

Meredith sobers up immediately. "I have no fucking clue," she admits, reaching for her radio. "You should, I don't know, set up a perimeter? Whatever it is you people do?"

John tries to lift his feet, finding them free again. He taps his radio. "I need two teams to Sector 117," he says. "And, uh- if you see a guy down there who kinda looks like me, do not shoot at him. This is a Code Orange, I repeat, a Code Orange."

After a lot of confusion and repeated proving of his identity, he finds himself sitting next to Meredith on an exam table in the infirmary. Either he's a little shorter or Cait's got it a little higher than usual, but his feet don't quite touch the floor; swinging them back and forth makes him feel even younger than he already does.

"Will you cut that out?" Meredith says, crossing her arms over her chest; even frowning, she looks really, really hot.

"Sorry," John says, making a concerted effort to stop.

Cait finishes consulting with her nurses, walking over towards them. "I've got good news," she says. "Physically, other than the obvious, there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with you."

Mer relaxes slightly. "So, how old are we, exactly?"

"Meredith, you're not a bloody tree," Cait says with a sigh. "It's not like I can count your rings. I'll have to take X-rays, but even then, it's not an exact science. Everyone's growth rates are slightly different."

Meredith snaps her fingers, before slipping her hand into the waistband of her now-loose BDUs and feeling her abdomen.

John looks at her in amusement. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Trying to figure out how old I am," she says, lifting up the collar of her shirt to peer underneath it. "Appendix ruptured when I was sixteen, scar, lab accident when I was twenty, no scar. So, say, eighteen, give or take a year or so?" Her eyes widen in alarm. "Cait, I need to talk to you."

Cait purses her lips. "Can it wait?"

"Um," she says nervously. "No. No, it really can't."

"Come with me, then," Cait says, giving John a look. She walks over and opens the door to her office, ushering Mer in.

John specifically tries not to listen, he really does, but patient confidentiality standards were really not formulated to deal with a panicky Meredith McKay screaming, "I don't want to be a goddamned virgin!" at the top of her lungs.

A lot of people turn to look, and John has a hard time glaring at all of them at once, but he's pretty sure he manages it.

When they come back out, they're both blushing furiously and pointedly ignoring that fact. "As a precaution, I'd like to have you check in every six hours," Cait says. "If the least thing happens, you're to come straight back here." She sighs. "Though I know neither of you will."

"Thanks, Doc," John says, smiling at her, also ignoring how incredibly awkward it is.

Meredith walks out of the infirmary, and John has to hurry to keep up with her; he doesn't bring up what they're both thinking about until they're back in her room.

"So, you're, um," he says articulately.

"You're not?"

John frowns, thinking about it; it's not like he feels any different. "Guess not."

Meredith sighs. "I should've known."

"Not even, y'know." He makes a vague motion with his hands. "With a girl?"

She puts her hand over her face. "Please don't tell me I've gotten this far into a relationship with someone who thinks there has to be a penis for it to be sex," she says miserably.

He holds up his hands in capitulation. "I'm just trying to make sure we're on the same page, here."

"No, okay?" she says. "I'd barely even gotten to second base. With anyone."

"Really? How did you even-" He shakes his head, amazed. "I mean, Christ, Meredith, have you looked in a mirror?"

"Just because I was younger and hotter doesn't mean that I was any nicer or dumber," she tells him, and she's clearly starting to get pissed off. "Besides, when I was eighteen all I wanted to do was build robots and listen to _Black Celebration_ over and over."

"So," he says, drawing it out, trying not to look too hopeful, "if you wanted, I'm certainly willing to help out with the whole virginity thing."

She snorts unhappily. "I'm flattered that you're getting off on this and all, but I'm kind of tired of talking about it right now."

"It's not like it matters," he says, though it feels like a lie on his tongue. "Why is it such a big deal?"

"Because it _does_ matter," she snaps. "It matters to me, and it certainly matters to you. And have you even stopped to consider that it might be a big deal for me because I've already been through this already? It was awful and I hated every second of it, but up until today, it was over and I never had to do it again." She stares hard at him. "Can you kind of maybe see why I might be a little upset?"

"Jesus, Mer," John says, wide-eyed. "I didn't mean-"

"Whatever," Meredith says, cutting him off. "I'm going to the lab to figure this out. You can help or you can stay the hell away from me."

She storms out, and he's left there, certain that he's completely fucked things up but completely unsure as to how.

\--

When John was fifteen, his parents sent Dave off to Europe for six months and got a seventeen-year-old blond named Marlena in exchange, which John thought was pretty much the sweetest deal of all time.

She was way, way out of John's league, but she laughed at his jokes and ruffled his hair and when she climbed into his bed one rainy night and asked him if he wanted to, he was just glad he remembered how to say "bitte" and "schnell". And he fumbled with the condom, and he came way too fast, but she kissed him a lot and let him do it again, so he figured he must be doing something right.

And when she went home and stopped answering his letters, he was only a little bit heartbroken.

Really, he couldn't have asked for more.

\--

Sending Teyla to talk to Meredith is a critical miscalculation, because now Teyla isn't talking to him either.

That's when John knows he _really_ fucked up.

\--

John goes four long days before he can't stand it anymore, can't stand seeing her and not touching her, can't stand being out of her good graces, can't stand not trying to get back into them.

She's stiff in his arms, but she lets him back her up against the wall of her room. "John," she says flatly, warning.

"Just- I just _need_ , Mer-" He breaks off, too gone to do anything but beg inarticulately. "Just my fingers, I promise."

She lets out a long breath, says, "Fuck that, use your mouth," and starts pushing him to his knees.

It feels so reassuring to be doing this, having her hot and wet and so responsive underneath him. Ever since they've been together he's thought of her body as his; it's so foreign to him to think of it not being that way that he can't even stand it.

She's trying so hard to keep quiet, her breath coming in little choked off pants, determined not to give any sign of how much she wants this, how much she needs it, but John knows anyway. He can read it in the lines of her body, the way her thighs slide just a little wider, the way her hips roll towards him, the way she clutches and pulls at his hair. But no matter how much she needs it, it can't be half as much as John does.

She's getting closer and closer; she digs her fingers into his scalp and just grinds herself against him. John lets her, lets her have whatever she wants, because that's the way it always really is, him entirely at her mercy. She doesn't get loud until she's already there, whimpering and panting and crying out, and for the first time since he was about- well, about the age he is now, John comes in his pants.

He keeps on licking her until Meredith finally pushes him away. She's panting, leaning heavily against the wall; she almost starts to slide down it before she catches herself. She sighs, looking down at him. "Do you need to-"

"I already did," he admits.

"Huh," she says, regarding him with forced nonchalance. "Well. You can go now."

John's so devastated that he can't even argue with her; he's got no room to. He hoped it would be different now, somehow, but if it isn't, then it isn't.

He stands up, unsteady on his feet, and leaves, the taste of her still on his lips.

\--

Two more days, and they're not any closer to figuring out what happened or how to fix it; John's not any closer to figuring out how to fix things with Mer.

Ronon doesn't seem to care or notice what's going on between them; John doesn't really know if he's uninterested or unaware, but he also doesn't care, as long as Ronon's still speaking to him.

"I really screwed up," John says, hanging over the railing as they're resting during their run, "and I don't know how."

Ronon grunts. "Teyla told me. That was fucked up, what you did."

John blinks. "What?"

"Oh, yeah," he says, like it's totally obvious. "I just didn't think you needed me to tell you."

"I'm not even sure _what_ I did," John tells him, pressing his face into his arms.

"It's not that complicated," Ronon says. "You tried to fuck her when you should have tried to comfort her."

John just looks at him for a moment. "It's really awful when you say it," he says.

Ronon shrugs. "You want my advice?"

"I'm all ears."

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," he says. "Start feeling sorry for _her_."

John is still trying to parse that statement when Ronon takes off again.

\--

John is a lot of bad things- he's paranoid and possessive and moody and lazy and very occasionally homicidal- but he's always thought of himself as a good man, somewhere underneath it all. This whole thing is starting to make him feel like maybe he's not, and it bothers the hell out of him.

He just doesn't know what to do with Mer- he never has, really, but somehow they've been able to muddle through so far. Now they can't, and it seems like he's the only one who's out of the loop here.

He tries to think about what it would be like, having to do work to be able enjoy sex, but it's such a weird, uncomfortable, foreign thought that he isn't sure what to do with it. He knows it's bigger than that, too. He tries to imagine being at odds with his own body, feeling out of control of it, finally getting it all comfortable and worn in only to be suddenly sent back to square one. And he doesn't really get it, but he figures he'd be pissed as hell if he put in all that work just to have it negated.

And just as soon as he stops feeling like something somebody stepped in, he starts trying to make it better.

\--

It's another two days before John finally starts to make some progress, before Mer starts to figure out what the hell happened to the two of them in that room that day.

He goes to her room that night, and he's kind of surprised that she lets him in at all; she doesn't offer him a seat, so he stands awkwardly by the door.

"So, uh," John says, looking at his feet.

"Oh god, you came over to talk about your feelings, didn't you?" she says, wringing her hands nervously. "It's just that you get this look on your face, like you know you're going to throw up, but you don't know how soon."

"Look, I'm sorry," he tells her, stepping towards her. "I'm sorry it was hard for you. I'm sorry that whoever it was you slept with first turned out to be such an asshole. He better be glad he's in another galaxy right now, because if I ever meet him, I'll put him in the fucking hospital."

Meredith scoffs, rolling her eyes. "And they say romance is dead."

"I'm pissed, okay?" he snaps. "I'm pissed that somebody else ruined something that was supposed to be special, that _I_ would've done everything in my fucking power to make right. I'm pissed that I didn't even get a chance. And, yeah, it shouldn't have to be a big deal, but it is, or you wouldn't be so upset about it. And I don't know what happened, but you deserved better."

She looks away, but he lifts his hand to her face, turning it back towards him. "I'm sorry that all this happened. And I can't really understand how you felt, because it wasn't the same for me, but I'd do anything to make you feel better. You're amazing, Meredith. You always have been. I just wish I could've been there to tell you."

"Come here," she says. She wraps her arms around his waist, pulling him close and resting her face against his shoulder. "I honestly don't know if I should be insulted or flattered that you're at your most eloquent while you're trying to convince me to sleep with you."

"Well, y'know," he says, shrugging. "I kinda like it."

"I'm not saying that I'd have waited," she says, "because, hello, I was in my thirties when we met, and it's not like I didn't have a whole lot of good sex in the meantime-" She stops. "That was more romantic in my head, wasn't it?"

"I'm gonna guess so."

"What I meant to say? Was that if I could've given it to you, I would have."

He looks her in the eye. "You can."

She sighs, looking disappointed. "John-"

"Come over tonight, okay?" he says. "Just give me a chance. I can't fix everything, but at least let me do this for you."

She looks skeptical. "I guess."

"I promise you won't regret it," he says, kissing her hair.

\--

It takes him a little bit to figure out that there even is an Ancient equivalent of a dimmer switch, and even more to understand how to operate it, but John manages to get the lights lowered in his room. Mer's allergies stop him from scattering rose petals, but he manages to scrounge up some candles for mood lighting, and maybe it's all a little cliched, but hey, _he_ certainly wouldn't turn it down, and he doubts Mer will either.

Mer is late, and she doesn't look a thing like she's come for a romantic evening; that's probably good, because John is starting to think that he's really not very good at this. She looks around the room, and John can tell there are no end of caustic comments about to spill out of her mouth. She gets as far as, " _Well_ ," before John gives up and kisses her.

He's so glad when she relaxes into it, finally, letting him take her jacket off and toss it away. He doesn't want to part from her, not at all, but he's got a plan here. "Sit down," he says softly, pulling her towards the bed. "Watch out for the burner on the nightstand," he warns her.

Meredith snorts, carefully avoiding it as she sits. "I can't believe you're trying to woo me with aromatherapy."

"Actually, I was going to use it to heat up the massage oil, but-"

She waves her hands. "No, no, in that case, please, woo away," she tells him. "Where did you find this stuff?"

He shrugs. "Ronon helped."

"Tell him I said he's a saint."

"Don't worry, I already did." He tugs at her arm. "C'mon, lay down."

She lifts an eyebrow at him. "Do you think if you rub me down I'm going to let you have your way with me?"

"Maybe," he admits.

"You may be onto something there," she says. She takes off her shirt, but she pauses there, seemingly unsure of what to do, what to let him have. "The hell with it," she mutters, unhooking her bra and tossing it onto the floor before she lays down on her stomach. She leaves her pants on, but John's not going to push it, not this soon.

He dips his fingers into the oil, rubbing it between his hands before smoothing it onto her skin. Her muscles are locked up, her back one solid knot of stress.

"Jesus Christ, Meredith," he mutters. "How are you even walking around like this?"

She snorts. "Very carefully." She wiggles. "Not there, move to the- yes, over there."

She doesn't hesitate to direct him, and he doesn't hesitate to do exactly as she says. It's much easier to do this now- but then, he didn't break his wrist until he was twenty-two. He digs his fingers in carefully, working out the stiffness in her back, her neck; Meredith is moaning and relaxing into it like the big hedonist she is, just the way John hoped.

She leans up, shimmying out of her pants and underwear so that he can work his way downwards, and he can't even do anything but look at her for a moment. She's always beautiful to him, but this is the next level; she's suddenly way out of his league, and he's kind of amazed she's even bothering with him, especially when he's such a fuck-up.

"You can get on with it any time," she says, into the pillow.

John shakes his head, tracing his hands down her sides, down her thighs, all the way down her legs before starting to work his way upward. It's all an excuse to get his hands onto her ass, massaging it for way longer than is necessary; he kind of wants to bite it, but it would probably ruin the mood.

"John," she says, turning towards him. "Come here."

There's nothing he wants more; he leans down, kissing her gently, but she wants more than that, wants him closer. He takes his shirt off, and Mer pulls suggestively at his waistband until he gets the picture and gets rid of his pants.

He lays down beside her, and she laces a hand into his hair, keeping him close, so close. He lets his hands roam over her body, still slick from the oil; he can't stop searching, making very sure all the places she loves to be touched are still there, still make her gasp and move against him.

He doesn't know how long they stay like that, just touching, kissing, and he doesn't care, not when it feels so good, so right. It's hot and comforting all at the same time, so relieving that she's even letting him do this.

She rolls onto her back, pulling him with her, her thighs falling open. "I want you to," she says into his ear, and it's probably the best, hottest thing anyone has ever said to him.

He kisses his way down the side of her neck as his hands move over her. His first finger slides in easily, and Meredith sighs, spreading her legs a little wider for him. She's so different, but at least this is familiar, the way she's so hot and wet and ready. Two fingers and she's canting her hips up for more; he rubs her clit with his thumb, slow circles, just how she likes.

"Come on," she says, arching her back, arching into his touch. "I need it, John."

His fingers are slippery and a little shaky as he reaches for the condom, and he has to tear it open with his teeth, tossing the wrapper away.

She looks at him in confusion. "What is that for?"

"If I get you pregnant, you're going to disembowel me in public."

"Wha- Ohhh." She taps her temple. "Smart."

"Yeah, well," John says uncomfortably. "Cait had to remind me."

"You talked to Cait about this?"

"She's a doctor." He shrugs. "I wanted suggestions."

"Wow," she says. "I bet that was excruciating."

"You have no idea," he says, rolling the condom on. He wants to ask, wants to make really sure that she's ready for this, but he can just _see_ her hitting him on the back of the head and walking out, so he restrains himself.

He kneels between her legs, and he's never seen anything in his life like that, Mer looking all soft and somehow innocent, all opened up for him. He doesn't even want to touch her, doesn't want to do anything to mar the perfection of this moment.

"I haven't got all day," she says, annoyed, and _there's_ the one that's his, the one he's in love with, the one who fell in love with _him_.

He positions himself with one hand, putting the other around her shoulders, and just draws her towards him, pushing in and holding her at the same time.

"Shit," she hisses; he can hear the tears in her voice, and it hurts him so badly that he doesn't know what to do.

"Breathe, Mer," he coaxes, laying her down, brushing her soft curls away from her face. "Just relax and breathe."

Her breath is shuddering, and she clenches her hand around his arm. "Give me a second and I'll-"

"Shh," he says, slipping his hand down to where they meet, stroking her gently. "I've got you."

It's a long moment before she relaxes. "John, I-" She waves her hand indistinctly. "I don't know, move or something, I'm not sure-" He rocks his hips slowly, experimentally, getting her used to it. "That's better, just- just keep doing that."

"Are you okay?" he says, kissing the side of her face. "Does it hurt?'

"It's not that bad," she says, even though it still kind of sounds like it is. "I just forgot how intense it was."

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks.

She laughs breathlessly. "After we went to all that trouble?" she says.

"Point taken," he replies, still moving slowly in and out of her. She's so tight around him that it makes him want to lose control, but that's not what this is about. This isn't about him at all; he's here to do what she wants, what she needs. He just bites his lip and keeps his focus on her, on making it as good as he can.

It takes a while for her to get used to it, long enough that John is starting to get desperate, but slowly but surely she's moving against him, rocking up to meet him. John buries his face in her neck, kissing and biting gently, right where she likes it most, his hand still working between them.

He can't help speeding up a little, still trying to keep his strokes long and steady, doing his best to keep it even and smooth for her. He pulls away, looking into her eyes. "Is this okay?"

"Like that, John," she says, her eyelids drifting shut, "just like that."

Sweat is dripping into his eyes and he feels like he's about a half a second from coming, doesn't even know how he's keeping it together. Her breath is coming in gasps, the way it does when she's close, and John's so turned on and so nervous at the same time. He wants to get her off so badly, wants to make it exactly right; he moves his fingers faster and she comes apart underneath him, clenching so hard around him.

It's such a relief when he comes; he makes a truly embarrassing noise, but he doesn't even care, not when he's been waiting so long, wanting it so much. He refrains from collapsing all over her, but only just barely, kissing her softly, still inside her, just as close as he can get.

He stays like that until she pushes at his shoulder. "It's very sweet, but get off me."

John snorts, but he's pleased at how much she sounds like herself. He deals with the condom before he lays down next to her again, wrapping his arms around her. He isn't sure what to say, if there even is anything to say, so he lets it go.

"Thank you," she says, after a long while.

"It's what you deserved," he tells her. He frowns. "Unless you thought it was bad. Then I apologize."

She socks him in the arm. "Shut up."

He slides a hand down her body, coming to rest on her abdomen. "Sore?"

"Not yet," she says. "Just sort of." She shrugs. "Empty? It's odd."

He lifts an eyebrow at her. "I can fix that if you want."

She snorts. "Oh, what the hell," she says, rolling towards him. "God, I'm going to hate both of us in the morning."

"It's okay," he tells her. "I told Elizabeth we weren't coming in until noon."

Meredith lifts an eyebrow at him. "Presumptuous much?"

"Either you were gonna say yes, or I was gonna find somebody who'd trade massage oil for booze," John admits, "but either way I wasn't planning on saving the world in the morning."

She scoffs at him, but she also kisses him, so John figures it was the right thing to say.

\--

It's perfect timing; in between yelling at each other, Meredith and Zelenka manage to get the thing to work in reverse the next afternoon. There are some terrifying close calls and some questionable experiments on Carson's mice, but finally Mer and John are standing back in the room where all this began.

She takes her hand in his. "Don't take this the wrong way," she tells him softly, squeezing it. "I don't regret anything, and I'm thankful for what you did." She sighs. "But I am so, _so_ ready to be an adult again."

John thinks about it; he still doesn't feel any different, though he's not pleased with the way Lorne always looks like he wants to ruffle his hair. "Me too," he says, because it's probably what she needs to hear.

"On three," Mer says. "One, two-" and they step forward.


End file.
